Tag Archives: Port Macquarie

Brotherly Love

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I’m not gay, but I will admit to being hopelessly in love with a big, burly bloke from the country. He’s tall (around 476m, the last time anyone checked), dependable (he’s stuck around for millions of years), and he’s always willing to let my mates have fun with him, too.

He is North Brother Mountain, and he’s my weekend lover on the Mid North Coast of New South Wales. I first met him around a year ago, when I first ventured to the area to learn how to paraglide (well, to start learning to paraglide – I still have a long way to go!). I thought he was imposing and a little bit arrogant, but I’m a sucker for a strong, silent type, so I had a bit of a perve.

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What a handsome chap!

Over the next week I flirted with some lesser mountains, that were more like hills to be honest, but it was North Brother who had my heart fluttering. I wanted to get to know him better, but he was playing hard to get. With one day left on the course, I was still admiring him from afar, and was starting to think it wouldn’t happen.

Things got worse when I had a bad curry and spent my final night of the trip doing my best impression of a broken fire hydrant. I figured it just wasn’t to be… and then something special happened. Hours before I was due to leave, North Brother smiled at me and smoothly asked if I was keen for a ride. Shit, was I ever!

I was as nervous and excited as an altar boy bending over for his first priest as I climbed into my harness, grabbed my risers, and prepared for the highest flight of my very short paragliding career. But North Brother was gentle and understanding, lifting me into the sky and making me truly feel like a woman… alright, maybe that’s going to far.

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Woooo, go my feet!

It’s hard to describe your first solo high flight. I wasn’t scared, because I was so astounded by what was happening and what I was doing. As I moved out from the mountain and watched the ground drop away below me, I struggled for breath as my jaw dropped as I took in the view. I had so much space to zip around, so many things to see, so many emotions to enjoy. That first flight off North Brother took only a few minutes, but it was the most incredible thing I’d ever done (well, apart from that chick in Bangkok).

I was nearly in tears as I left North Brother. True to form, he showed no emotion, and was flirting with another paraglider before I’d even touched down. I promised to frolic with him again, but the timing never seemed right. We passed each other like ships in the nigh, our paths destined to never cross again.

But all that changed last weekend. I was in the area again with the Cloudbase crew, trying and failing to get it on with any of the other flying spots. Harry’s Lookout didn’t want me, nor did Long Flat. I felt like a 60-year-old slag trying to find a cock to suck before closing time. I was dispirited and despondent, but when I was at my lowest point, he showed up. Big Brother wanted me to fly with him.

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Look how happy I am to be flying!

I wasn’t as nervous the second time I was with the big fella. I’d been with other mountains (including his brother, who is bigger where it counts) , but I was still looking forward to the ride. I felt comfortable as I walked onto the launch site, and when a gust of wind hit and I took to the skies, it was like North Brother and I had never been apart. I danced in the air like a recently-separated woman dancing with a group of African American sailors, once again barely able to contain my excitement and sense of wonder at what was going on around me.

It was so good to be back with my large lover, but he’s here for a good time, not a long time, so eventually it had to end. As my feet touched the ground, I looked up to North brother, blew him a kiss, and promised it wouldn’t be so long between dances this time.

But he was already fucking around with someone else, the slut.

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Today I lost my pants at the beach

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I enjoyed my last paragliding visit to Port Macquarie so much that I’ve come back – but the locals are wishing I’d stayed where I bloody well come from. But hear me out, it wasn’t my fault!

There’s less wind than on the moon today, so I decided to head to the Rainbow Beach to have a dip. It’s a top spot (although it could do with a few less dogs. The four-legged kind, I mean, not ugly women. Although, truth be told, it could do with a few less of them, too) and I had a great time reading a book and listening to some music. And then it all went wrong.

I decided to go for a swim, and chose to go in only my underpants, so my board shorts will be nice and dry when I went to the shops afterwards to buy a Curly Wurly. Bad choice, bro, bad choice. After paddling around in the vibrant water for 10 or 15 minutes, I was hit by a monster wave, and when I resurfaced, things felt a bit different downstairs. A bit lighter, a bit roomier, a bit more like my undies had been knocked off and were floating away.

I looked around frantically, and saw them being picked up by a wave. I swam in that direction, desperately trying to grab them before they disappeared forever. I reached out, stretching my arm further than it’s ever been stretched before, and finally grasped them. And that’s when I realised I’d been chasing a chunk of seaweed. My underpants were gone, and I was naked in public.

Luckily, Rainbow Beach isn’t very crowded, and I figured that, if I was quick, I could get back to my towel without being seen. I waded back to shore, carefully looking for a chance to get out. And that’s when a family of five decided to sit down to eat their lunch about five metres from where my stuff was. Mum, tide two little kiddies, and even Nana was there. Shit.

I swam around in the shallow water, terrified a fish would mistake my doodle for a worm,and hoping the family would finish their lunch and fuck off. But they had a lot of lunch and they were slow at eating it, and when they finally finished they all lay back in the sun, obviously with no intention of leaving. I was pruning up and getting tired from fighting the tide, but I couldn’t exactly barge up the sand with my water noodle flapping about.

I needed a plan. I thought about wearing the seaweed as a kind of cock cover, but decided the family would simply thought I had a lot of pubic hair and would start screaming. There are a lot of trees at the back of the bush, so I figured that if I could get to them, I could circle behind the Addams Family, reach my bag, and get my boardies back on. Well, it was worth a shot!

I swam up the beach and darted out of the water, then raced across the sand like some sort of demented crab. I dived into the bushes just as a fisherman turned my way, and barely missed being impaled on a stick. Then, like a naked Rambo, I made my way through the trees as the family started singing a song about bananas. I know, I thought it was weird, too.

I waited until they were in mid-singing, then burst out of the bushes and made a bee-line for my bag. Unfortunately, I didn’t see the log lying in my way. I smacked my shin on it and flipped like a gymnast, then rolled along the sand before ending up five metres from the family, with my sandy Willy flapping in the gentle breeze.

It was not my finest hour.

Chasing the Wind

I haven’t had something hairy and goofy-looking wake me up since my last girlfriend left me, so it was comforting to be woken up by the goats again this morning.

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Don’t you just wanna milk ’em?

Once that intimate rendezvous was out of the way, it was time to get into some paragliding. Well, more like time to wait around for some paragliding. I watched a genuinely interesting infomercial on a blunder, and a news item about an obsession with Instagram indicating a propensity to cheat. I was nodding my head so much it almost fell off, but that’s a story for a much-anticipated future entry.

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You can see my handbag down there

The wind finally rocked up, and me and the Cloudbase Paramagliding crew made our way to beautiful Indian Head, so named because one of the blokes from the Village People was caught sucking the salami there. It’s a great spot and really pretty, but the wind was a bit intense, so it was time for some more para-waiting. And more para-waiting. And more…

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Cool Chris heads for the skies

When things finally settled down, I was able to get up for a tandem flight with my homeboy Mark. He’s known as the Grand Poobah of Paragliding, so I relished the opportunity to strap myself in close to him and sail off into the endless skies. While Mark knocked back my sexual advances, we enjoyed a memorable flight above the New South Wales coastline.

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Hunks of the sky… form an orderly line, seagulls!

We waited for the winds to die down, and when they didn’t, I decided to go for a flap on my own in a smaller wing. I’ve had one flight in the last seven months, so I was as rusty as a Mormon robot’s cock, and I wasn’t happy with my performance, even under difficult conditions (I’ve said that after a few sexual encounters, trust me). My take-off was awful, I kicked a tree mid-flight, and I never felt completely comfortable. The wind was a bit too strong for me to have a fun flight, and I ended up having to land earlier than I wanted to, but it was great to get a flight out of the way as I build my hours and my confidence. And even if I was disappointed with today, there’s always tomorrow.

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Is it the shoes?

My struggles with the wind convinced Mark and Chris that it wad time to head home, and I spent the night cracking beers and enjoying the company of good people. the paragliding community is a wonderful and inclusive bunch, and I’m loving my time up in Port Macquarie.

All up, it was a brilliant day, and proved that perfect conditions aren’t required for a great day of paragliding. Good mates, a few laughs, and having a crack are what it’s all about. It looks like Middle Brother might be on tomorrow, and if it is…. yeah, there’ll be stories.

Any Port in a Storm

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I’ve had a rough couple of days (don’t worry, you can read all about that in an upcoming blogsmic extravaganza – trust me, it’s a story of love and loss that’s so bizarre and deranged that you won’t want to miss it), so yesterday I chucked my paraglider in the car and headed up to Lake Innes to go flying with my homies Mark and Chris. It seemed like a good enough idea, and the weather was lovely on the way up.

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I swear I was driving sensibly

The weather wasn’t any better today, so I had two options. 1) Sit inside all day and wank myself into a corner, or 2) Hop in my car and go exploring. After dabbling in the decadent delights of option numero uno (sorry, Mark, I swear I’ll pay for new sheets… and a new toilet brush), I decided to get out there and see what was on offer.

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It’s a lovely beach… when the weather’s not as foul as a Kim Beazley bowel movement!

As soon as I left the house it started bucketing down, so I meandered over to the resort town of Port Macquarie, where I spent many joyous days as a child. Seriously, the days I spent camping there with my family were some of the best of my life, and I still look back on them fondly.

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I remember camping at Port Macquarie for a few days with my grandparents when I was 10 years old. It was a weird time because the holidays were coming to a close, the rest of my family had already headed home, and most of the friends I’d made in the camp grounds had left. I enjoyed it, though, and one memory stands out above all others.

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The man no woman can tame

There’s a breakwall right near the camp site, and many of the rocks that made it up had names written on them. My grandfather went up the street one day and bought me a small pot of green paint and a brush, and I wrote my name on one of the rocks, a permanent reminder that I’d been there. I went back to the breakwall, and of course my name isn’t still there. It’s been 22 years and there’s almost nothing left of the boy who wrote it, so there’s no chance his scribbling would be. Instead, i found that the rocks are now beautifully decorated with intricate designs. It’s a really incredible walk, even if a bit of fright shite came out when I saw a shark.

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Just when you thought it was safe to go back near the water…

With the weather making a day at the beach as appealing as a Penny Wong anal sandwich, I checked out the town. There’s not heaps to see, but I did find something that I thought was extinct. No, not a woman with pubic pair, an honest-to-goodness CD shop! I haven’t seen a Sanity for nearly a decade, but here it was, complete with bored teenagers and people looking to buy physical copies of music instead of illegally downloading it. I was so excited that I took a photo of myself in front of it and a local wag called me a tosser for doing so.

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New Tinder profile?

I’ve come here under less than stellar conditions, but Port mac is still an awesome place to visit – or live, as I’ve been threatening to do for the last year! Now, if only somebody could fix the bloody weather so I can go for a fly, the world would be in unison…

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